Son Of The Sheikh. Ryshia Kennie

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СКАЧАТЬ was the most glaring change. Having a child wasn’t something she’d wanted, at least not when they were dating. He knew that because when they were together she had told him often enough how she was determined to make her career in management and one day open her own bed-and-breakfast. She’d been focused and had even said she’d have a family only when she was established. With no husband and with a child, and her longed-for career obviously in jeopardy, could this be about money? He’d never have believed that of Sara, that she’d looked him up so that he could support her in the lifestyle to which she wanted to get accustomed. It had happened before with other women, women he hadn’t cared much about. It was always about the money, not about him—except maybe for the good time he showed them. But Sara, she was different.

      “What are you thinking?” she said and that tone was in her voice, the one where she expected he was going to toe the line. But there was no line, no relationship. He looked at her, at her determined stance, and saw the stubbornness he remembered. Still, she’d changed. She had a baby.

      She glared up at him. “You think I’m here because...”

      “Because what, Sara?” he asked darkly. “You need help. You have a kid now. You need help and I—”

      “You always could be a jerk,” she muttered, cutting him off.

      “Name calling, Sara?”

      She looked at him with regret. “I’m sorry. That was beneath me.”

      He skated over her apology. It didn’t matter. She could say what she wanted but he couldn’t see any other reason for her being here. And the last thing they needed was to fight in a situation like this. It was unwarranted and it would upset the boy. “You’ll be safer in the new hotel,” he said, as if that ended the discussion. “Let’s get moving.”

      Instead, she was silent, as if considering something, and then she looked up at him. “Tell me the truth, Talib. Did something happen back there in the hotel that you’re not telling me? Besides the obvious—the explosion. I mean with Everett. It seems like you’re not telling me something.”

      She was so bang on that he wanted to turn away from her. He wasn’t sure what to say. So he took the safe path and said nothing.

      “It’s about Everett, isn’t it? Where was he when you found him at the hotel? Did someone try to take him? Is that what you’re not telling me?”

      The tone in her voice, the words—all of it seemed to bring the heavy weight of responsibility. He wasn’t sure why he would be feeling that for her, any more than he would for any other client. But she wasn’t his client and there was the boy.

      “No,” he lied. He couldn’t tell her the truth. He didn’t know what the truth was. What he did know was that he could hear the edge of panic in her voice and she needed to be calm for her and for her son. Knowing wouldn’t make a difference to her safety. He had taken care of that by arranging for the move. “I just want to make sure you’re safe after everything that happened here. And the hotel you’re going to has one of the best security systems in the city. Don’t worry,” he said, feeling rather low for lying to her the way he was. But in a way he felt justified for he knew she had yet to tell him why she was here and he wasn’t completely convinced that money wasn’t the problem.

      “The security in this new hotel that you mentioned, it just frightens me that you think I need it. There’s something you’re not telling me, Talib.” She looked at him. “But I’ll let it go for now.”

      “I think that might be said for both of us. Here’s my direct number.” He handed her the business card he’d pulled out earlier—on it, he’d written the private number that few people, other than his family, had access to. “I’m available night or day at that number.”

      “Thank you, Talib,” she said and despite the formality in her voice there was also something oddly intimate in her tone.

      He hesitated. It wasn’t a lover’s caress that he remembered, or the stern, I’m-pissed-with-you tone. It was something else, something regretful, yet stronger than that. He’d consider it all later. For now, he had more important things to think about.

      A car pulled up to the corner with one of his staffers driving. “Assad will take you there. The cost of the hotel is handled.”

      “Talib, no,” she protested again.

      “Yes,” he said firmly. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

      He opened the door and she slipped in, opening her arms for him to place her son in them. He couldn’t turn away from the haunted look in her eyes and at the picture of the sleeping toddler in her arms. It was serene, so peaceful. This wasn’t the Sara he remembered. This was so much more. He had to yank his thoughts back.

      “Don’t leave the hotel, Sara. Promise me,” he said. “In fact, once you’re in your suite, stay there. Order something to eat.” He handed her another business card. “If you need anything else, use this number. He’s a good friend and manages the hotel. Otherwise your money isn’t good there...”

      “Talib, no.”

      But her voice was quiet, resigned, as if she knew what he would say, where this was going.

      “I’ll be there later,” he promised. This time his expression was serious as he handed her one more business card. “If you have any concerns at all and you can’t reach me. Call my brother, Emir.” He wanted to ask her so much more. Personal questions crowded with ones that might somehow affect this case. For now, he’d follow one of Nassar’s cardinal rules—secure the innocent, regardless of whether or not they were potential witnesses.

      * * *

      “WE CAN’T FIGHT an Al-Nassar. As long as he didn’t know, that was one thing. We could blindside him through Sara. Playing her was easy. But the Al-Nassars have resources. I don’t know if they’ve ever lost a case.” This wasn’t turning out as Tad Rossi—who disliked his given name, Tadbir, and was never called anything but Tad—had planned. He knew he should have given this plan more thought, but when she’d run, he’d panicked. That wasn’t what he’d intended.

      “Speed will be our secret weapon.”

      “Secret weapon. You’re talking stupid and—”

      “Don’t you ever call me that, ever!” The last word ended in a shout. “We clean house once and run,” his partner said calmly as if he hadn’t just lost his temper. “We’ll be in and out before anyone is any wiser.”

      “What do you mean by that?” Tad gripped the phone. He was beginning to have qualms about contacting this man in the first place and definitely about calling him now. But he’d never expected Sara would run to Marrakech. And when she had, he’d become desperate. He couldn’t lose her. He’d reached out to one of the few contacts he had left in that country and he’d known almost the minute he’d done it that it had been a mistake. He’d known him since public school. They’d been friends, as only two mismatched souls could be, and they had bonded together. He’d known Habib’s disdain for the Al-Nassar family even then. He’s also known that his childhood friend’s life hadn’t amounted to much except petty crime. Despite all that, they’d remained friends of sorts, oddballs thrown together by life. That was until he’d left Morocco. Then, he’d lost touch.

      His old friend was someone who had every quality he required—ill feelings against СКАЧАТЬ